


A Chance Meeting

by Morvidra



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: Year 2956: Aragorn meets Gandalf and their friendship beginsA small look at how these two might have met





	A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverCeleb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCeleb/gifts).



> Happy Secret Santa reveal to you, haltiamieli! Thanks for the prompt to explore Aragorn and Gandalf's friendship a little - I hope you like it!

“I seek a companion for a perilous journey,” Gandalf said. He had not spoken loudly, but the sounds of the tavern quietened as though many ears were suddenly listening. “The road may be long, and it will most certainly be dangerous.”

He looked around the now-silent room. “I am told that the Rangers of Eriador may be met in these parts. I had hoped to find one here.”

The barman laughed nervously. “Well now, Rangers – they comes and goes as they likes, you might say. They do come here betimes, you’re right there. But as for finding one at any particular time, well…”

Gandalf was no longer listening. His attention had been caught by the young man who sat quietly in the corner of the room, drinking his ale and speaking to none. But a pair of keen, grey eyes watched Gandalf steadily over the rim of the tankard.

There were too many witnesses for Gandalf’s liking. Setting down his empty mug, he thanked the bartender and exited the tavern.

Some minutes later, the young man appeared around the corner of the building.

“You appear to be a skilled tracker,” Gandalf observed mildly from the log where he sat.

A flicker of a smile appeared on an otherwise expressionless face. “I am. But it was not so difficult. I just had to follow my nose, and the scent of the smoke you produce in such quantities.” 

Gandalf drew deeply on his pipe. “I would expect no less,” he said, nodding, “…from a Ranger.”

A brief silence followed.

“The Men of these parts call me Gandalf the Grey,” the wizard added after it was clear the young man was not going to break the silence. A sudden intuition led him to add, “But to the Elves, I am known as Mithrandir.”

The stern face of the other held a spark of recognition. “So you are Mithrandir. I should have known at once: I have heard my foster father speak of you.”

Gandalf blinked at the abrupt turn in conversation. “Your foster father?”

The young man’s head lifted proudly. “He is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.”

Even a wizard may be taken aback on occasion, but Gandalf had seldom been more astonished (when Hobbits were not involved, at all events). “Of all the Rangers in Eriador, that you should be the one I find!” he exclaimed. “I know Elrond of old; he and I have sat together upon the White Council.”

“Yes, and you arrived on his doorstep when I was ten years old, accompanied by a group of Dwarves,” the young man said with a faint look of amusement. “The steward spent weeks tidying up after that incursion.”

Gandalf chuckled at the thought. 

“And it was after that that the Council threw the Necromancer out of Dol Guldur,” his companion added quietly. “You were there – and then you were at the great Battle in the East where the Goblins were defeated.”

“The Battle of Five Armies, they call it now,” Gandalf said, memory assailing him. “Yes, I was there.”

“And now you come seeking a Ranger to take part in a perilous journey.” A dark brow was raised. “From everything I hear, Mithrandir, all of your journeys are perilous.”

“This one is perhaps more so than others,” Gandalf said grimly. “I do not exaggerate when I say that it leads to one of the most dangerous places in Middle Earth. I will need an expert tracker and fighter – one who has the stealth of a Hobbit, the speed of an Elf, and the strength of a Dwarf.”

He received a nod of acknowledgement. “It is fortunate, then, that you found me,” was the soft-voiced response. “Though I am yet young in the years of Men, I have seen peril, and my feet have walked many dangerous roads. I would gladly accompany you on this journey.”

He spoke the truth, of that Gandalf was certain. “Then I would be glad to have you with me,” he answered. “Ah… but you must forgive an old man his lapses of memory, for I cannot recall whether I ever knew your name,” he confessed.

The young man smiled. It was a true smile this time, and Gandalf’s bushy brows rose uncontrollably at the change it wrought upon the normally grim visage. 

“In the house of Elrond I was known as Estel,” the young Ranger said, “and in the Wild I am called Strider. But my true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”


End file.
